


The Lotus Hair Pin

by PrinceofHellebore (PrinceofPlants)



Series: The Lotus Hair Pin [1]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Barnes and Carter are there too, Gen, I don't know what else to tag, M/M, Self-Indulgent, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofPlants/pseuds/PrinceofHellebore
Summary: Wilde struggles to pin his hair up without the use of magic on a particularly hot day in Japan.  Zolf helps.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: The Lotus Hair Pin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026370
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	The Lotus Hair Pin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to those of you who encouraged this. You know who you are. Hope you like it.

The inn was stifling. Even with most of the doors open the atmosphere was oppressive. Barnes and Carter sat across a low table from each other playing go on a polished board. They both had their shirts unbuttoned halfway and the sleeves rolled up past their elbows. Even so the fabric clung to them damply. Zolf sat nearby, reading, also trying to endure the humidity and stillness of the afternoon. Carter lethargically placed a black stone on the board near a cluster of others. Barnes quickly placed his own, removing a pair of Carter’s pieces, his grin, triumphant. Carter sighed and rested his chin in his hand while he studied the board, fingers toying with a pile of stones set to the side.

Several long minutes passed and then Barnes spoke, “You have to play sometime.” 

“I know, I know,” Carter groused. He picked up a stone and set it down. Barnes played again after a few moments. They exchanged a few more turns swiftly and then some of the Barnes’ white stones were removed. 

“Ah, it’s barely any better out here.” The three of them sitting in the main room of the inn looked up at the interruption to see Wilde standing in the doorway. He was wearing something that he had borrowed from the owner of the inn. It was an indigo cotton robe that was tied at his waist with a wide cloth belt. It looked better suited to the monsoon season than their European clothing. His hair was pulled back from his face though a single lock of it fell against his cheek. 

“It’s not better anywhere except the cell.” Carter said, “and even if it was as brisk as an English autumn down there I wouldn’t be interested in spending another moment in it.” Barnes and Carter had only been cleared from their most recent quarantine the night before. 

“Yes, we know. Now play.” Barnes said. Wilde stepped into the room and went to stand over their game. 

“Oh not there,” he said as Carter laid a piece.

“Don’t help, I might not lose this time,” Barnes protested.

“Fine,” Wilde turned away and knelt at the table near Zolf. He had a stack of papers with him which he laid out in piles before him, taking over the whole surface. He sat to Zolf’s left but was in his peripheral vision even while Zolf focused on the page where he had left off in his reading. The four of them fell again into near silence with only the occasional goading from Barnes or Carter as they exchanged territory on their game-board. 

However, Zolf found himself unable to focus on his book again, he’d already been having difficulty in the sleepy heat. Zolf could ignore the small sounds of fabric rustling, or Wilde’s pen, but was utterly distracted by the motion that he caught out of the corner of his eye every time he tried to return to his reading. Zolf looked up as Wilde sorted through papers and then wrote a few lines in a notebook and then fidgeted with his sleeves. After a moment Wilde reached up and took a long thin stick from his hair which then fell forward to frame his face in the manner Zolf was used to. It had grown a lot since when they had first teamed up over a year ago. 

Wilde’s fingers carded it back and then twisted it around the stick to turn it into a bun that held his hair away from his face again. Small curls remained loose at the nape of his neck. He returned to working but the whole routine repeated a minute later. And then again. Wilde’s frown increased in severity every time he pulled the stick from his hair and had to redo it until after three more attempts he set the stick on the table beside his work with enough irritated force to make a loud clatter. 

Zolf dragged his attention to his book, sighing. At least Wilde would probably sit still now. He didn’t, every other gesture was to comb back the locks of hair that fell before his face, and then to shake his sleeve back from his hand so that he could write. Zolf was beginning to wonder how Wilde ever got any work done if he spent half of the time messing with his hair. But then that probably hadn’t been a problem before he’d been forced to wear the anti-magic cuffs and had his hair shorn off. Sympathy welled up in Zolf as he watched Wilde struggle. 

Zolf replaced the strip of rice paper he’d been using to mark his place and set the book aside on the tatami mat. He stood and stepped up behind Wilde, leaning over to pick up the smooth stick from where it lay by Wilde’s elbow. The knob on the end was carved into a lotus. Zolf didn’t know what he planned on doing, he had no idea how to use the stick to pin someone’s hair in place. Even so he reached out and gently collected Wilde’s hair into his hands; it was soft and finer even than he had imagined. It was also slightly damp with sweat at the nape of his neck and at his temples but Zolf didn’t mind. He combed his fingers through it again, not as an indulgence but as a necessary step before the next unknowable step in the process. Zolf had seen, in Wilde’s multiple attempts, him twist the tail around and then using the stick turn it over and insert the tip back through the newly created bun. He gave it a try only to have the silk of Wilde’s hair fall from it almost immediately. 

Wilde seemed utterly focused on his work, his pen slowly scratching out coded words across the page. So Zolf tried again, cheeks burning with how boldly he’d undertaken this intimate service. Impulsive, he chided himself silently, but it seemed worse to give up than just continue. Zolf tried again and met with a little better success. It was loose and locks were slipping free almost as soon as Zolf let go. He removed the stick and collected back Wilde’s hair again, his fingers brushing gently his temple and ear and up the line of his neck. Wilde sighed, shoulders relaxing. This time Zolf leveraged the tip of the stick to get a tighter twist and when he turned it over and caught it behind the knot of hair it stayed tightly bound. He sighed relieved. 

Wilde leaned to the side and then twisted to look over his shoulder at Zolf. The bun created an elegant line from Wilde’s neck and Zolf found himself wanting to undo his work so that he had an excuse to continue, to touch…

Oscar tilted his chin at a calculated angle and looked up through his eyelashes, “Thank you, Zolf, I’d not found the knack for that.” 

Zolf nodded, “no problem. I think it’s about time I started to cook dinner.” Zolf backed a few steps away, snatched his book from the floor and nearly fled the room.

That was a shame, Oscar mused, wondering briefly where he had overplayed it. Perhaps right at the end when he’d batted his eyelashes. He should have known that was too much. Everything else though had gone stunningly. He could still feel Zolf’s fingers in his hair, at his temple, his neck. What machinations would he have to devise to invite Zolf to do as much again. Wilde adjusted the unfamiliar sleeves and then looked across the room to where the other part of his team was seated. Barnes and Carter were both staring at him. Their gaze didn’t remain once he returned it and both looked hurriedly back at their unfinished game. Oscar smiled, contented for the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Love,  
> Prince of Hellebore


End file.
